One who sings with his tongue on fire, gargles in the rat race choir.
Some are masters of illusions, some are ministers of trade, all under the same delusion, all their beds unmade.
I’ll stand over your grave ’til I’m sure that you’re dead.
The cards are no good that you’re are holding unless you’re from another world.
I like Fidel Castro and his beard.
Take me on a trip upon your magic swirling ship.
Now all the criminals in their suits and ties are free to drink martinis and watch the sunrise.
She takes your voice and leaves you howling at the moon.
I’m determined to stand whether God will deliver me or not.
How many deaths will it take ’till we know that too many people have died?
It’s mighty funny. The end of time has just begun.
You should always take the best from the past, leave the worst back there and go forward into the future.
Let the dead bury the dead, your time will come.
Obscenity, who really cares. Propaganda, all is phony.
Jewels and binoculars hang from the head of the mule.
In this age of fiberglass, I’m searching for a gem.
Disillusioned words like bullets bark as human gods aim for their mark.
Anger and jealousy’s all that he sells us, he’s content when you’re under his thumb. Madmen oppose him, but your kindness throws him, to survive it you play deaf and dumb.
I saw him making love to you, you forgot to close the garage door.
You say love is just a four letter word.